Our School Daze
by pfeffi
Summary: In which it all started with a math test. / Or, a collection of moments from a Friday afternoon. — Sinbad & the Generals, AU.


**Our School Daze**

_(these are the moments we engrave in our hearts.)_

.

Sinbad stifled a yawn.

It seemed that, no matter how long he stared at the chalkboard, he would never understand the strange symbols that made up the language of physics. It didn't help that the bell had just rung _school's out_ a few minutes ago, either. The urge to just pack up his things and head home for the weekend was almost suffocating—and severely hindering his physics comprehension skills. On the other hand, if he went home without taking legible, detailed notes, Ja'far would have his head.

He weighed his options.

"Going home it is," Sinbad announced, to no one in particular. He tossed his pencil and notebook into his bag and stood up. Frankly, he needed sleep after pulling an all-nighter with Pisti. He would just take his chances with—

"Siiiin!"

—little blonde bombshells?

With the force of her entire weight—well, what little of it she had—behind her, Pisti crashed into Sinbad and sent them both stumbling backwards; Sinbad tripped over the leg of his chair and went crashing to the ground, whereas Pisti managed to keep her balance (like she always did, no one was really sure how she managed) and tried to grab his hand before he went down, but missed.

When he wasn't so disoriented, Sinbad groaned, rubbing the back of his head. Pisti smiled guiltily at him, for a moment, and then promptly thrust a paper in his face.

"Sin, look, look!" She exclaimed, giving him exactly twenty seconds before pulling the paper away. "Did you see?"

"No," he chuckled, "too close. Show me again."

Pisti held up her paper a second time. At the top, amongst black numbers and pencil scribbles (some of which looked suspiciously like chibi faces), there sat a big, red 78. Sinbad's face split into a smile.

"I passed!" Pisti cheered, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "It worked! The overnighter was worth it!"

Sinbad laughed; "I knew you would."

"Liar," she replied, "you totally thought I was going to fail again." She snickered at the wounded look he gave her. "Did you get yours back yet? Did you pass? Can I see?"

"I don't have it yet—I still need to get it. Sensei said she'd mark it quickly for me." He said.

"You flirt!" The blonde gave him a playful shove on the shoulder, grinning. "You charmed her into it, didn't you? Ja'far's not going to be happy!"

"I didn't _charm _her into it—wait; what do you mean Ja'far's not going to be happy?"

She paid him no mind. "Say, where is he, anyway? I need to thank him for tutoring us; I'll give him a suuuuper big hug!"

"I don't know where he is—don't ignore my question, Pisti! Why won't he—"

"Sin, don't tell me you don't know," she looked at him incredulously. When he stared back at her, a little defiant, a little confused, her expression morphed into one of awe. "You don't know? Really? Not even a guess?" She blinked once, twice, and then giggled. "Well, I'll let you figure it out! You're smart—just not at math. Speaking of which, you want me to come with you to get your test?"

He shook his head; "No, there's no need. You should head home—I'll show you my test when we see each other again."

"Okay, if you say so," she smiled. "I'll see you later, then! If you run into him, tell Ja'far I'm going to give him a giant hug at home!"

"Will do," Sinbad murmured, cracking a smile as she scampered off, leaving him to his puzzled thoughts.

* * *

"That teacher! Messing up everything! I have a strict belief of not doing any work after school's out—that man needs to learn to respect that!" Sharrkan huffed, pulling his shirt back on. A scowl was plastered across his face.

Beside him Masrur was doing the same. He stared impassively at the wooden benches in the boy's locker room, less than half of his attention devoted to Sharrkan's complaints. His elder had spent all of their physical education class complaining the teacher had "no right to make them run!" and was "insane" because "no sane person would think running outside at this time of day!" It wasn't enough that he had Masrur carry him back to the locker rooms (after begging, and only after) and whined all the way there, he had to complain whilst changing out of his sports uniform, too.

Sharrkan slung his back over his shoulder, still grumbling. "I need a drink. You want coffee?"

"No," Masrur deadpanned.

"You and Spartos both! You're willing to get coffee with _Yamuraiha_, of all people, and you're not willing to go with me! I'm a hundred times more fun than that stupid painter is—" The two walked out into the hallway. While Sharrkan turned left, Masrur abruptly turned right. "—hey! Where do you think you're going?"

"To the middle school," the redhead replied.

"Fine, leave me alone, then!" Sharrkan crossed his eyes at Masrur's retreating figure. "I'll just find Pisti. _She'll_ want to get coffee with me."

The light-haired boy stalked off in the general direction of Pisti's last class of the day: Theatre. It was one of her favorite classes; she had a soft spot for dramatics, as anyone who knew her would confirm, and had been taking it since their first year of high school. Sharrkan took it as well and was normally put in the same class as her, but this year his and her schedules didn't coincide quite in the way he had wanted them to. (He had moped for three days after finding out they were in different classes and it wasn't until she and Spartos had surprised him with a new coffee mug—saying "World's Best Friend!"—that he brightened up again.)

The entrance to the auditorium, and the location of the theatre class, was located amongst the art classrooms. As he strode down the hallway, he passed by an emptying ceramics class, an afterschool art club that was meeting with their latest model (he had to stop and stare at her for a while) and then—

"_Sharrkan? _What are _you_ still doing here?"

In the last room before the auditorium was Yamuraiha, paintbrush in hand, sitting in front of a large canvas. She had a smock on, tied neatly around her waist, and her hair pinned back out of her face.

"Looking for Pisti," he replied. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"You won't find her here. She went to go find Sinbad a while ago," she said. "She might be on her way home now. I'm finishing my painting and then I'll be doing the same thing."

His jaw dropped. "She ditched me?"

Yamuraiha shrugged, swirling her brush around in the paint on her pallet. "It's only ditching if she knew you were coming," she said breezily, stroking her brush along the canvas. A satisfied smile appeared on her face.

Sharrkan pouted.

"If you want to find her, why don't you text her? She's always got her phone on," offered the teal-haired girl.

"Nah, she's probably spending her time with _Sinbad_, I don't want to interrupt that," he grumbled, stepping into the art room.

"You're so petty," Yamu rolled her eyes.

"You're one to talk," he replied. He moved behind her to inspect her painting, leaning over, holding himself up by propping his hands on the table. "Wha—" He lifted his hand and scrunched his nose—wet paint had accumulated on his fingers. "—_ugh._"

Yamuraiha snorted, setting her pallet down and folding her arms. "Well?"

Sharrkan scrutinized the painting before him. On the canvas was a grandiose image of the sea, its waves loud and angry, so real they were almost churning across the fabric. The sky was dark and cloudy, a faint trace of lightning in the background—and was that a whirlpool he saw in the corner? Though he hated to admit it, the artwork was impressive.

Naturally, he didn't say so. "Do you ever paint anything besides water?"

"I like painting the ocean!"

"But that's all you ever paint! All it is is blue, blue, blue, and more blue! You should put something else in for a change."

"Like what?" She narrowed her eyes.

"Like a ship, or a person. Yeah—a person! You could put a little, drowning person right… here," Sharrkan pointed dead center, jabbing his finger against the canvas. When he pulled away there was a bright, red mark where his finger had been.

Both their jaws dropped; his out of surprise, hers out of horror.

"Shit!" He exclaimed.

"You—you moron!" Yamu shrieked, leaping to her feet, her paintbrush flying out of her hand. The wet end landed smack dab in Sharrkan's face, smearing paint on his cheek. "Jerk!"

"Wh—hag!" He responded, swiping his colored hand on her arm. Four long, red stripes appeared, to which he gave a triumphant laugh.

Yamuraiha's face turned as red as the paint on her arm. With a cry, she grabbed her pallet and smacked it against his chest. Blobs of color (in a perfect circle, might she add) were left on his uniform shirt. This time he let out a shocked shout.

"Why you—!"

* * *

Ja'far heaved a sigh, dragging his feet as he made his way down the hall towards the teachers' lounge. In his arms was a stack of papers—a mix of handouts and tests that his English teacher had asked him to collect and drop off. It wasn't unusual for his teachers to ask him to do errands; he was a good, dedicated student with excellent grades and a high work ethic. They trusted him where they wouldn't trust others. And, when they asked him for help, well, Ja'far didn't have the heart to refuse.

Better they ask on a Friday, anyway, he reasoned. He didn't have to worry about heading home immediately to frantically try and balance his homework, making dinner, doing chores, and tutoring in one night—he could spread out the work over three days. _Dinner_, he realized with a pang; he needed to go shopping for food. They had absolutely nothing in the refrigerator.

"Goodness…" he murmured, biting back a yawn.

There were dark rings underneath his eyes from the all-nighter he, Pisti, and Sinbad had "pulled" together. Both had come to him at 9pm with tears in their eyes, looking defeated, informing him that they knew absolutely none of the material that was on their test the next morning. He had sacrificed his own sleep (and a final proofreading of his essay, which he had to save for lunch) to help them.

He turned the corner. Just one flight of steps, a few more doors, and he'd be free to head to the grocery store. He still needed to think about what he wanted to make for dinner…

_Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt-! _

Ja'far jumped; the papers slipped right out of his hands and scrambled on the floor. His cellphone vibrated sporadically in his pocket. He groaned, pulling it out and flipping it open.

_Where are you? I can't find you! __ヽ__(`Д´)__ﾉ __—__Sinbad._

He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. Deep breath. Remain calm. He had to remain ca—

"Ah, there you are, Ja'far."

Ja'far heaved another sigh. He turned around to see Sinbad approaching him, an apologetic smile on his face. The purple-haired male bent down and started to gather the papers back together.

"Sorry," he said, stacking the sheets, "wasn't my intention. It did help me find you, though."

"At my expense," Ja'far responded primly, kneeling and plucking out all the tests from messy pile Sinbad was making. "What are you still doing here?"

"I was just talking to Pisti. I sent her home, then I thought I'd see if you were still around."

"Oh."

Sinbad chuckled. "I should have known you'd be doing favors for the teachers again."

"Well, Takatora-sensei asked and he looked stressed…" Ja'far shrugged. "It's not like you can just say no; it's rude to refuse your elders, you know. He isn't asking that much, either."

"Except that your classroom is at the other end of the building," Sinbad pointed out. "It's not a light load. Here—" he swept all the papers into his arms, save for the tests Ja'far was holding, and rose. "—let me help you."

"Sin, you don't—"

"I want to," Sinbad insisted, and smiled again, plain and sincerely this time.

Ja'far glanced off, feeling his cheeks warm. "…Fine," he murmured. "Thank you."

* * *

Unlike his best friends, Spartos was not quick at texting. While both Sharrkan and Pisti could write ten messages in the space of two minutes, it took him those two minutes to carefully write out one. It didn't help that his phone was old and dying—courtesy of Sharrkan, who had 'accidentally' spilled coffee on it—and it could barely process what keys he was pressing. Clearly, he needed a new phone.

(He wondered if Sharrkan would be willing to chip in, considering it was his fault his cellphone was taking its last, dying gasps.)

Spartos was, at present, headed towards the school entrance, texting both Pisti and Sharrkan and inquiring their whereabouts. If either of them were still in school, he figured he might as well walk home with them. Wasn't that what best friends were supposed to do?

"You moron!" Came a shriek from a nearby classroom.

His head snapped up. He recognized that voice. Quickening his pace, he strode to the classroom—an art classroom—from where the shout originated, and was (partially) surprised to see Yamuraiha and Sharrkan throwing paintbrushes at each other. Yamu threw a large one at her opponent, spouting words that burned his ears. The brush missed her target and sailed past Spartos' nose. He took a few steps back, away from the door.

_Best not get involved_, he decided, and turned the other way. If Sharrkan had decided to converse with Yamuraiha on the way to the auditorium—something he wouldn't do willingly—then he must have been looking for Pisti and had most likely missed her. So, where Pisti was, no one knew.

Spartos returned his attention to his phone. He finished punching in the last word, _you_, and hit the send button.

He didn't have to wait longer than thirty seconds before Pisti replied.

_Upstairs, in the bio classroom!_ (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ

"Ah," he breathed. Not uncommon of her.

He proceeded away from the art classroom and to the nearest staircase that would lead him to the science hall. It didn't take him long, the art hallway was literally below the sciences, and the biology classroom was located right at the front. He hadn't even taken five steps when he heard Pisti's excited voice in the near distance.

"—Oof!" He heard her say, and then: "Thank you, thank you, thank you, Sensei! I'll take good care of them and bring them back as soon as I finish!"

"Take as much time as you need," replied her teacher; an elderly male voice, Spartos thought. "Enjoy them, won't you?"

"Yep, will do! Have a nice day, Sensei!"

Pisti bounded out of the classroom, nearly tripping over her own feet as she did so. Spartos was at her side in a moment, steadying her. In her arms were eight books, three of which were large, heavy hardbacks, the other five thinner paperbacks. She beamed up at him, radiant and sunny.

"Spar! Look what my teacher gave me!" She bubbled. "All these books on animals! See, this one here—the purple one—that one's about birds. And the green one with the yellow spine is about sea animals—and the other green one is about zoology!"

He smiled softly. "What do you need the books for?"

"I don't need them for anything," she explained. "My teacher found out that I wanted to study zoology when I go to university, so he said he'd bring in some of the textbooks he likes and lend them to me."

"That was very thoughtful of him," he said.

"I know, right? I'm going to read all of them over the weekend!"

"All of them? That's a lot of books," Spartos commented, glancing at the books again. "I suppose we'll have to cancel our weekly coffee trip…"

Alarm crossed Pisti's face. "No! You can't! I won't read all of them over the weekend; I'll read all of them but one. I'll make time, I promise!"

Spartos chuckled quietly. "I was teasing, Pisti."

"What—Spar! You're so mean!" She huffed, puffing her cheeks for only a moment before falling back into her easy, smiling demeanor. "Oh! Guess what—I passed my math test. I got a 78!"

"Congratulations," Spartos said. "Your studying paid off."

"Yep; I have to thank Ja'far. But until I see him, I think a celebratory coffee is in order! I want one of those ones with chocolate."

The redhead shook his head. "You'll never get to sleep if you have one now. Aren't you tired?"

"Me? No," Pisti hummed. "I feel like I could pull another all-nighter. But this time I won't make Ja'far and Sin stay up with me. This time I'll just get you and Sharrkan to stay awake."

"I don't think I could manage that," Spartos sighed.

She giggled. "We'll see! So, what's next?"

"I'll walk you home," he said.

"Hmmm… okay," she said, nodding. Mischief danced in her eyes. "Will you hold my hand, too?"

"I'll carry your books," he smiled crookedly.

Pisti let out a dramatic sigh, trying and failing to hide a growing smile. "I'd rather you hold my hand."

"One step at a time," he said.

"Alright," she acquiesced. "Will you still carry my books?"

He took them from her arms. They both disappeared down the stairs, Pisti humming a tune, Spartos' eyes warm with amusement.

* * *

"Will you quit it already?!"

"Fine, fine!" Sharrkan threw his hands up in the air. The wet clusters of leftover paint on his hands flew right off his skin and landed on the wall. He tried not to notice.

Yamuraiha, trying her best not to pout, huffed and turned away from him back to her canvas. The majority of her ocean painting had managed to escape the fight, but the bright, unnatural spot in the center of it remained a constant reminder of Sharrkan's carelessness. The pout blossomed on her face. Not only was her painting ruined, so was her smock and her uniform skirt; her hair was streaked with paint, and she desperately needed a shower. To top all of that off, how was she supposed to explain what happened to the art teacher on Monday?

Sharrkan hadn't escaped unscathed, either. He had more paint on him than Yamu did; there was a myriad of colors decorating his shirt, all his jewelry, and the reds, blues, and purples that had mixed their way into his hair would stain it for days—unless he got really unlucky and the acrylic dried and he'd have to get his hair cut. He groaned at the thought.

"This is all your fault," Yamu grumbled, pulling the smock off over her head. "My hair, my clothes, my painting—_all your fault_."

"My fault? You're the one who—who—" He spluttered.

"Who what?!"

He didn't have a reply to that. Sharrkan fell silent, looking sincerely uncomfortable. Yamuraiha frowned, primly, and spread out her smock. Using her painter's knife, she carefully peeled away the wet, and some of the dry, layers of color from it. Not the traditional use of the tool, but using her fingers would only spread the paint more.

"…I'll buy you whatever hair dye you use to fix your hair." Sharrkan said eventually.

"I don't use hair dye! When are you going to understand that this is my natural color?" Yamuraiha replied, heatedly.

He squinted his eyes. "Your hair's way too bright to be natural!"

"It's natural!" She snapped.

For the umpteenth time that day, Sharrkan groaned. "Okay, okay. Look, I'm sorry about your painting and clothes and all. I'll… take you out for drinks or something."

"We're underage," Yamu gawked.

"I _know_ that, Yamuraiha," he rolled his eyes. "I'm talking about coffee. Or, decaffeinated tea for Her Majesty."

"Drama Queen," she huffed, her lips twitching. "…Okay. But only if you pay."

"What?! Why do I—" He stopped abruptly, pressing his fingers against his temples (and subsequently leaving red marks there). He sighed, exasperated. "Fine, I'll pay. Hurry up and put your stuff away already. I want to go home."

"What, you're going to wait for me?"

He shrugged, casually, trying to maintain his nonchalant demeanor. "Sin'd kill me if I let you walk home by yourself. Innocent girls—even if they're old painters—need protection."

Yamuraiha squared him off, giving him a skeptical look. He stared back evenly. Suddenly, she smiled, flicked a final bit of paint at him, and began to clean up.

* * *

It was luck that had Sinbad's math teacher sitting in the teachers' lounge, grading tests, when he and Ja'far arrived to drop off the papers they were carrying. As Ja'far took his and Sinbad's stacks to put them away, Sinbad approached the middle-aged woman.

She looked up upon seeing her student, a smile breaking across her face.

"Sinbad-kun! You came just in time, I finished marking your test." She said, handing him the first one on her stack of twenty.

"Thank you, Sensei," Sinbad beamed, "I appreciate you doing this for me."

"Anything for a lovely boy like you," she chuckled. "If you ever need my help studying for future math tests, please let me know. I'd be more than happy to help you, Sinbad-kun."

Sinbad thanked her again and wished her a very pleasant evening, turning to the doorway where Ja'far was waiting. The light-haired boy's jaw tightened; he had one hand fluxing between a fist and flat. Sinbad, puzzled, joined Ja'far and the two of them exited the room.

"So," Ja'far asked, exhaling slowly, "what did you get?"

"Let's see," Sinbad glanced down at his paper… and promptly put it away in his bag. "You know, I think I'll just look at it later."

Ja'far stared. "…Sin. You studied."

The dark-haired boy smiled carelessly; "I did. Looks like that blackout moment I had was really bad after all…"

"Sin—how could you do badly on your math test? We stayed up all night to study all the equations; you knew them! You can't keep this up! If you want to get into a good university—which you do—you need to improve your math grades!" Ja'far exclaimed, dismay painted on his face.

"I know," Sinbad nodded, "I'll do better next time, Ja'far."

"But what if you don't? What if you keep having these—these 'black out' moments and you do poorly in your classes?"

"It won't happen," he said reassuringly.

"How do you know?"

"Because I have to get in the same university as you," Sinbad smiled, softly, and shrugged. "Now, let's go home."

Ja'far's mouth opened and then closed immediately, leaving him gaping like a fish. Sinbad chuckled at his behavior, which prompted Ja'far to quickly say; "I can't. I need to go grocery shopping, otherwise we'll have nothing for dinner."

"Then let's go grocery shopping," Sinbad hummed, ushering him towards the stairs. "It'll keep us away from the excitement at home for a bit. Speaking of which, Pisti passed her test and plans to give you a big hug when she sees you."

"Really?" Ja'far asked, glancing up at him.

"Really," Sinbad replied, and reached down to lace their fingers together. "I don't think you can get out of it, either."

Ja'far stared down at their intertwined fingers, feeling a blush emerging. "…Oh well," he said quietly, and gave his hand a little squeeze.

* * *

By the time Masrur had reached the middle school, which was about a fifteen minute walk away from the high school, the school day was over and the kids were flocking out the doors. The tall senior leaned against the fence outside the school, patiently eyeing the crowd for a trio of primary colors. Today it was his turn to pick up the middle schoolers and take them home, not that he minded. In his (humble) opinion, picking up the younger students was better than having to listen to Sharrkan whine about their P.E. teacher.

"Alibaba, wait for me!"

"Can't catch me, Aladdin!"

"Oh… Masrur's already here."

Masrur zeroed in on three kids making a beeline for him. Leading the group was Alibaba, weaving his way through the crowd, Aladdin chasing after him. Morgiana trailed behind the two, doing her best not to get lost in the swarm of people and lose sight of them. They all slowed to a stop in front of him.

"Let's go," Masrur nodded.

Alibaba and Aladdin skipped in front of him, bursting into conversation. Masrur paid them little mind; the moment he heard the blonde mention the "cup size" of his teacher, he found himself uninterested in their conversation. Unlike the other two, Morgiana walked a few steps behind them, at an even pace with Masrur. She looked on at the two boys—Masrur could guess the emotions swimming through her head. Jealousy, he thought, and maybe a little sadness. He wasn't surprised. This happened most Fridays.

He pulled his backpack off his shoulder and rustled through it. Morgiana paused and waited beside him, not wanting to go too far ahead, and curious. The older redhead pulled out a granola bar from the backpack's front pocket. He handed it to her.

"Here," he said. "Eat."

Morgiana stared at the white wrapper of the granola bar for a few seconds. She hesitantly pulled off the sealing and took an inquisitive bite, tasting it, letting the flavors mingle in her mouth. She took a second bite, and after careful consideration, settled into a comfortable munch.

Content, and more than ready to go home, Masrur walked on.


End file.
